Intentions Unknown
by ragingquiet26
Summary: Rewrite of Book 6... Ch 5 is up!
1. Back At Number Four

A sixteen year-old Harry awoke to find someone sitting in front of him. Unable to make out the persons' identity without his glasses, he reached to his right and as he placed the circular framed lenses over his eyes, he saw Sirius appear in front of him, looking down at him. Upon first glance, one would have thought they'd seen a skeleton, as Sirius' bones were clearly evident under his sallow skin. Harry noticed that his eyes looked bloodshot and tired, and contained no spark, as would usually be found. Staring at him, Harry couldn't think of a time when his Godfather had looked worse. The two remained staring at one another, and Harry, in disbelief of his neglect to make conversation with his Godfather sooner, jumped at the chance. He quickly opened his mouth to speak but Sirius interrupted, shaking his head. Harry was confused. He had wanted to talk his Godfather for so long, to ask him questions, just to have some form of contact. His mind was buzzing with questions and the fact that he was sitting just opposite him and wasn't allowed to talk to his Godfather disturbed and confused him. He felt angry. Again he tried to talk, but Sirius placed a hand over his mouth, and Harry knew it was futile to try again. It shocked him however, when Sirius himself spoke.

"Harry, you can't blame yourself for this." Silence greeted these words, and Harry wasn't taking in a word of it. Of _course_ it was his fault. If he hadn't tried to be the hero yet again, Sirius would still be alive. Lost in these thoughts, Harry was brought back by Sirius' voice once more.

"I came on my own will, you didn't make me come."

But I did, Harry thought. You came to protect me… his thoughts trailed off as the walls of the room in Grimmauld Place began to melt away, as did the pitiful form of Sirius.

Harry woke suddenly, hearing the floorboards creak in the room next door. He sat up. A sense of immense depression came over him. Looking around, he saw his trunk in the corner of the room, roughly unpacked with clothes strewn over the floor and surrounding furniture, and Hedwig, looking ruffled and annoyed in her cage. His eyes met a sorry sight. He lay there miserably is his room in Privet Drive. It was the nearing the end of his summer holidays, and it had been months since Harry had lost his only living relative. Of course, everyone had been writing to him, Ron and Hermione especially, but he couldn't open their letters. He couldn't read their consoling words, their pity. He didn't want that.

Harry had assumed by now that the cause for the noise was that Dudley was heaving himself out of bed and waddling down to breakfast. Sure enough, moments later he heard the door next to his be wrenched open and a noisy shuffling could be heard travelling down the corridor. The shuffling passed his door and then proceeded down the stairs. Harry lay back down in bed. He was trying to forget the dream he had had about Sirius, as it caused him too much pain to recollect.

"Get up now! UP!"

Aunt Petunia's shrill yells could be heard from the kitchen downstairs, and Harry grudgingly pulled some clothes on and opened his door. He trudged down the stairs, awaiting the far-less-than-jovial response his entrance into the room would surely bring.

"Hurry up boy, we're leaving at 9 o'clock to buy Dudley's new uniform. Little tyke's growing up so fast." Uncle Vernon chortled.

As bad as his treatment had been over the past summer, Harry's life at Number Four could have been far worse. Had members of the Order not warned the Dursleys of the consequences of treating their nephew badly, Harry was sure he'd have had a much worse time. Because of this warning, Harry had been allowed a lot more freedom to do what he pleased. He had been allowed out of the house more often, and he used this time to visit the local park, often just to sit and think, but not of Sirius, never of Sirius, it caused him too much pain.

Harry reached the kitchen table and as he sat down, a small snort issued from Uncle Vernon, whose face was hidden behind a newspaper. Harry didn't care much that Uncle Vernon was clearly about to explode, but lifted his head in time to see him slam the paper down on the table and get up so roughly it caused the table to shudder vigorously.

"Who do these people think they are?"

This statement received a number of different responses; Harry continued to sit calmly at the kitchen table, marvelling at his Uncles newly purple face, Dudley, who, if it was possible, looked even more puzzled than ever, and a worried expression crept over Aunt Petunia's bony face.

Uncle Vernon continued:

"Do they think we appreciate reading rubbish like this?" he yelled, brandishing a shaking finger at the newspaper article he had been reading.

"And it doesn't even contain any facts, just suspicions… we suspect this… well 'we suspect' doesn't mean anything… it could all be lies!"

For some reason, Uncle Vernon was looking uneasy as he argued about the article, and looking at his Aunt and cousins' faces, Harry wasn't the only one to notice this. After some time of ranting about bad writing and false rumours, it seemed it had become evident to Uncle Vernon that this outburst was not going to be met by understanding, let alone an intelligent response from anyone. Defeated, Uncle Vernon proceeded to scrunch up the paper and lob it lazily towards the bin, but it fell short and landed a few centimetres away. Uncle Vernon then strode from the room noisily, and that left Harry alone with Dudley and Aunt Petunia. After Uncle Vernon's outburst had taken place, Harry realised he felt hungry, as he hadn't yet eaten anything. He hadn't really eaten much all summer, just picking at his food, how could he eat when he had just lost the closest thing to a father he would ever have? This had caused him to loose a little weight, but he didn't care.

Opening the fridge, he noticed that a large slab of cake was missing, along with a few cans of lemonade, and Harry noted this without a hint of surprise, for Dudley often raided the fridge. Grabbing some jam, he stepped away from the fridge and began making toast. As he did this, Aunt Petunia walked briskly out of the room, no doubt off to console her husband, who was making loud crashing sounds from another room, noises which could easily be distinguished as the sounds of furniture being thrown about. And that left Harry alone with Dudley.

Harry finished making his toast and was just finishing spreading jam on his last piece when he felt Dudley's eyes on him.

"What?" Harry snapped.

Dudley remained quiet but proceeded to glare at his cousin, then grab another large slab of cake from the fridge, and waddle off to no doubt play with one of his numerous electronical devices, the cake held tightly in his podgy hand.

Harry seized this opportunity to grab the newspaper article Uncle Vernon had thrown at the bin. Un-scrunching it and flattening it against the kitchen table, Harry began to read:

MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCES REPORTED: SUSPECT UNKNOWN 

_It has come to the attention of the press that numerous residents have been recorded missing, however, it also appears that the victims were only found missing this morning; their loved ones waking up to find them gone. Mr. Henry Brooks' whose wife was tragically taken by the mysterious kidnapper, has stated: "I woke up this morning, and I remembered she was gone. I remember what happened, they took her."_

_But this reporter questions how the suspect could take a victim from their home without members of the family noticing? How did he or she trick them into noticing the next day, and not immediately? We have not, however, found any bodies, and this suggests that the victims may still be alive, but we cannot prove this at the present time. We believe that this is the work of a professional, and that all residents should make sure to take the necessary precautions to ensure the safety of their loved ones. We suggest… _

Harry didn't need to read on to figure out who was behind this. Mysterious disappearances? No bodies? The victims' families suddenly losing their memories until this morning? This was clearly the work of Lord Voldemort, or one of his followers. But what, Harry mused, would Voldemort want with muggles? He didn't have more time to ponder that however, because he could hear his Aunt and Uncle coming back. He quickly scrunched up the newspaper again, and lobbed it towards the bin, and unlike Uncle Vernon's throw, it went in.

"Right, time to go." Uncle Vernon half yelled half hissed.

"Duddykins… are you ready?" Aunt Petunia inquired patronisingly.

"I'm coming…" was the reply from Dudley, as he tried to quickly jam the rest of the slab of cake into his mouth.

Harry really didn't want to go and buy a new uniform for Dudley. He didn't want to go and discover that they didn't stock uniform big enough for Dudley's elephant-sized bottom, and even less he didn't want to see Uncle Vernon argue with the poor shop assistant about the lack of uniform sizes.

"Uh…" Harry cleared his throat. "Uncle Vernon?" Harry said carefully.

"What is it now, boy?" Uncle Vernon snapped, his back to Harry.

"I was wondering if I could stay home while you go out shopping for Dudley's new uniform."

Uncle Vernon seemed to momentarily lose all will and/or ability to move. He stood rooted to the spot, his back still facing his nephew. Then after a few moments, he seemed to regain control of his bodily functions and proceeded to turn around and stare fiercely at Harry. Harry was in no way frightened, and instead returned the look. As if suddenly waking from a trance, Uncle Vernons' facial features softened slightly and he adopted a tone of fake sincerity, and Harry knew the cause for this: he was thinking about the warning.

"Well, I guess that would be… erm… acceptable…" he stated with difficulty.

"But you are not to stay in the house, you will go out." The fake sincerity in his tone disappeared, to be replaced with bitterness.

"That's fine."

Of course, if he hadn't been allowed to go, Harry would simply write to anyone in the Order, saying that he wasn't being treated well, and boy, the effect on Uncle Vernon would be well worth the effort.

Within 15 minutes the Dursleys had left the house, and had by that time locked Harry out as well. But Harry didn't care, he could do what he liked, and he didn't think being trapped inside the house was going to help his mood at all. As he watched the Dursleys drive off, his mind filled with an infectious and fast spreading feeling, one that had momentarily gripped him: freedom. He began to walk to the park, a route he knew well. Harry looked somewhat different, having grown over the summer. His shoulders had broadened, and he had grown a little taller. He had grown his hair out a little longer than normal, but it remained sticking up at the back, as always, but now it was long enough to just cover his scar, and just enough to need to be pushed away from his eyes when he was looking at something directly in front of him. His body wasn't hard and muscular, instead lightly toned, but had the potential to be muscular if he had wanted it to be. He had grown into his facial features; his cheekbones were more defined and he had a more defined chin, but his emerald green eyes remained as dazzling as ever.

As he approached the park, he saw a young child on the swings being pushed by his mother, its father sitting on the bench nearby with another child perched atop his knee. Harry walked over to a nearby tree and leant against it. How he longed for family, for that connection, for the feeling of unconditional acceptance and support. He suddenly remembered Sirius, and in that moment was so beside himself, he didn't notice himself fall to his knees, burying his head in his hands. After a few moments however, he regained composure, instead choosing to rest his back against the rough bark of the tree, his knees up close to his chest, his arms resting loosely on his kneecaps. He felt angry. Why did he have to be so stupid? Why had he taken the dream so seriously? Why hadn't he listened to Hermione? Thinking of one of his best friends was painful too, and he quickly tried to think of something else. How he longed just to cut himself off from the world, so that no one would be hurt. He constantly blamed himself for the death of Sirius, and he wished so much that he could turn back time, and fix his mistakes. Wild thoughts of flying to Hermione on his Firebolt under the cloak and making her use the Time-Turner flashed through his mind, but he soon realised the flaws in the idea. Instead he thought about his impending doom or glory. The prophecy was always in the back of his mind, yet he hadn't told anyone, for fear of making people worry about him more, and that was exactly what he didn't need right now.

He suddenly realised it was getting dark. He must have been here for a long time. He got up, stiff from being in one position, and started walking home. No one noticed Harry entering the house, nor did they look worried that he had returned so late, but Harry was used to this treatment. He continued to his room, and flopped down in his bed and settled into an uneasy sleep, thoughts of Sirius plaguing his dreams...


	2. The Dream

Harry woke up late, and went and sat at his desk, looking out his window at the murky grey English sky, feeling that it reflected his current mood perfectly. He was fed up. He wanted to get back to school and get so buried in his work he wouldn't have time to think about Sirius. As he mused, a small, fluffy spherical object zoomed through the small gap of his open window. He opened his window and plucked the animal from the air, as it was still zooming happily around the room

"C'mon Pig." He put Pig in Hedwigs' cage, and the small owl began to drink rapidly, spraying Hedwig, who turned her beak up to him, seemingly appalled.

Harry went back to his desk and sat down. He ran his fingertips over the edges of the envelope, and then, almost reluctantly, opened it. Gazing at it, he recognised the neat handwriting as Hermiones'.

_Harry,_

_Why haven't you replied to any of our letters? Are you okay? We're both really worried about you; this summer can't have been easy. I'm staying at the Burrow at the moment, and Ron and I are going to come pick you up tomorrow. Will you please write back and tell us how you are? I can't wait to see you; I've missed you so much. _

_Your friends,_

_Hermione and Ron_

It was the first letter he had opened from them all summer, and whilst he felt a little bit guilty that he hadn't opened any of the others, he didn't think it was fair of them to expect him to write much at all this summer. What could he say? I've just lost my only living relative and the Dursleys are just being themselves? And what was all this 'we' stuff?

However, seeing as they were coming to pick him up tomorrow to spend the last days of summer at the Burrow, he thought he'd better respond. He found parchment and ink and scrawled a quick note.

_Hi you two,_

_I'm fine; I just needed to be alone, but if it's all the same, I've missed both of you too. I'll see you tomorrow, and say thanks to Mrs. Weasley for me, I'm sure she encouraged this. _

_Harry_

With that he attached the note to Hedwigs' leg, (she needed to stretch her wings, as she had been cooped up in his room all summer, no thanks to Uncle Vernon). Opening the window, he grabbed Pig and threw him out the window, and watched as the small bird began to rise into the sky. Hedwig landed softly on his shoulder, and gave his shoulder a slight squeeze. He felt almost sad as Hedwigs' weight vanished from his shoulder the next second, and watched longingly as the two became tiny specks against the grey sky.

He decided to pack his trunk, and spent the next few hours finding all his various belongings. He didn't feel much like dinner, and so he went to be early. Lying down on his back, hand resting on his stomach, he gazed at the ceiling. His eyes started to droop and he soon fell into a deep sleep.

He was walking down a small path, surrounded by dense forest on either side. He had his wand in front of him, shining light ahead for him to follow. He heard a rustling and spun round, but got caught on a tree root and fell face down to the ground. He spat the dirt from his mouth and as he stood up, he noticed a small figure moving steadily towards him. As it came closer, Harry raised his wand, ready for attack. Poised like a cat ready to pounce, Harry found himself shout an incantation at the figure, in a voice unlike his own, high pitched and merciless. As he felt himself produce the words, he thought it most unlike himself to ever use them, but sure enough his mouth formed them:

"_Avada Kedavra_!"

He watched as blinding green light flew out from his wand and hit the figure square in the chest. In this second, the light illuminated the figures face. It's tennis-ball sized eyes rolled in it's head as fell. Moving up to the unstirring creature, Harry discovered its identity. It was Dobby. Appalled at what he had done, he ran from the spot, crashing blindly through the trees. He tripped and fell again, and as he fell, the forest began to disappear…

Harry woke with a start the next morning. He looked outside to find the sun high in the sky. It had to be at least noon. He got up and went to the bathroom, shutting the door as after him. As he did so, the dream started to replay itself in his mind. Why had he done it? Had _he_ actually done it? Or was Voldemort making him do it? Why had it been Dobby? As questions raced through his mind, he turned on the shower and undressed. Stepping into the warmth, he let the water run down his back. After a few minutes he was finished, and stepped out. The dream still fresh in his mind, he dried himself off and wrapped a towel around himself. When in his room, he pulled on a clean pair of clothes and sat down on his bed to think. He got up every now and then to put something he had forgotten into his trunk, but he constantly tried to think of a possible meaning for his dream. Soon enough, he heard a crack, and a figure appeared a metre away from him. Mr Weasley smiled at Harry and Harry smiled back, weakly.

"Let's be off Harry, I don't want to disturb your umm… relatives."

"How are Ron and Hermione?" Harry asked.

"They're er… well, you'll see in time." Mr Weasley replied quickly.

Within a few minutes Harry had closed his trunk and taken a last look at his room, not in a sad way, but in an 'I-hope-I don't-see-you-again-for-a-while' way. Mr Weasley had brought a portkey for him and Harry to use, and it turned out to be an umbrella. Grabbing onto the hooked end of the umbrella with one hand, and grabbing one handle from his trunk with the other, Harry felt the familiar jerk and was suddenly moving fast, and before he knew it, his feet hit solid ground.

Gazing upon a familiar site, Harry smiled as he remembered the good times he had spent at the Burrow. He turned, taking in the Burrow's lopsided kitchen, smiling. He immediately dropped his trunk and went upstairs to Ron's room, suddenly feeling like he couldn't wait another second to speak with him, even though he hadn't been that bothered during the summer. Opening the door, he saw Ron sitting on his bed, and Hermione reading a book entitled _Spells for the Gifted_. They were so… close. Hermione was leaning into Ron and Ron's arms were wrapped around Hermione's lower back/waist. Hermione was giggling softly, Ron was tickling the small stretch of skin visible on Hermione's hips. Feeling awkward, Harry made to back away, and instead of a quiet exit, his foot found a creaky floorboard. Immediately, Hermione disentangled herself from Ron, and before he could register it, he was wrapped into a tight embrace, and soft brown curls that smelt of honey and vanilla were under his nose. Overpowered, he subconsciously lowered his arms so they rested on her hips… Snapping to his senses he pulled away, a little to suddenly maybe, and looked Hermione in the face.

"Good to see you too Hermione."

"Harry _why_ didn't you write?"

" I did," Harry replied, a little too quickly. "…last night."

Ron was standing next to Hermione, and he moved towards Harry, patting him on the back in a manly kind of way.

"How've you been mate?"

Harry hoped Ron hadn't meant anything about Sirius, so instead he found himself saying, "I missed you guys. Heaps"

"We missed you too Harry," Hermione replied, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him into another tight embrace.

"Careful Hermione, you're going to strangle him." Ron sounded funny.

"Oh shush Ron!"

And at that moment, as Hermione pulled away from Harry, an awkward tension invaded the air, silence overcame them.

"Um, Harry?" Hermione said in a small voice most unlike her own.

"Yes?"

"Well, you see…" she paused. "the thing is…" she paused again. "Ron and I are…"

"Together?" Harry finished for her.

"Yes, we are."

"Finally, you two!" he clapped Ron on the back, and Ron then began to turn furiously red.

Harry felt himself say that he was glad they finally got together, as he was getting sick of Ron complaining. But inside, he found it to be a different story. He was jealous. Baffled by his confusion, Harry just looked at the floor, unable to met their eyes.

"Harry, is there a problem?" Ron posed.

"No, no I'm fine… just… just tired." Harry found himself answer quickly.

Almost to Harry's relief, Mrs. Weasley called Ron (how dare he suggest making guests help with dinner?) down to help her in the kitchen, and this left Harry alone with Hermione. The awkward tension seemed to build as Ron shut the door roughly behind him. Harry cleared his throat, and then walked slowly towards a bed, which must have been meant for him, as there were fresh sheets on it and it looked like it had been recently made. He sat down.

"So Hermione, how've you been?"

"I'm great Harry, just great, I haven't been this happy in a while."

"That's great." Said Harry, not even bothering to try and sound sincere.

"Oh Harry, I mean of course I haven't been great, no, of course, it's been tough… I can't imagine what it would have been like for you."

Harry just looked down at his hands. Suddenly, he found Hermione's face looking up at him beside his hands. She had crouched down, and was looking up at him. Startled, he started to sit up, but stopped when her warm hands were placed over his cold ones.

Hermione looked up at him, her face full of concern, but Harry couldn't look at her. He pulled away from her touch, turning to face his back to her. He found himself mumbling to Hermione.

"You shouldn't do that Hermione, if Ron sees us… you know what he's like."

"Harry, just because Ron and I are together doesn't mean I don't care about you anymore."

"But-"

"Harry, relax.." She looked at him, concern etched on her face. "You know you can talk to me about anything right? I know Sirius meant so much to you…"

Harry didn't hear her next words; he had gone numb with grief. Tears slipped slowly, silently and unwillingly down his face, Harry couldn't stop himself. He tried to hide his tears from Hermione, the tears he had been suppressing all summer.

"Harry, don't hide them, this is a natural reaction."

"Hermione, it was my fault…"

"No, Harry, don't you dare blame yourself for this…"

Harry couldn't suppress an audible gasp as Hermione took him in her arms.

Harry leaned into Hermione's' embrace and began to cry with a little less restraint. All the pain he had felt since Sirius' death was surging in his mind. He felt himself shudder, tears now falling freely. Hermione remained holding him, rubbing his back softly, feeling his chest rise and fall sharply as he wept. Hermione couldn't imagine what the past summer had been like for him, and absent-mindedly noted with worry that he had gotten slimmer. Harry suddenly came to himself and hastily drew away.

"Hermione, I've got to go."

"Go where?" she asked desperately.

But Harry was wiping his eyes and trying to make it look like he hadn't been crying. He turned away from her. He was still sitting near her on the bed, but now with his back to her, so she couldn't see his face.

"I don't want to come between you two." Said Harry suddenly; surprised he had voiced that thought aloud so freely.

"Harry, I want to help you. You can't get through this alone, you need someone to help you."

"I don't _want _anyone to help me! I don't deserve it! I killed Sirius, I shouldn't have taken that dream so seriously! And now he's dead, and I'm alone, and there's no-one to blame but me!" he yelled, now realising that he was standing, but feeling suddenly faint.

"Harry it wasn't your fault."

Hermione watched, shocked, as Harry passed out and fell suddenly to the ground, but was relieved when he regained consciousness after about a minute.

Harry awoke and found his head in Hermione's lap, Hermione was sitting under him, her fingers were playing with his hair, tucking it gently behind his ear, or otherwise softly entangling themselves in the thick hair on the back of his head. He looked up at her face, and was shocked to see her crying. Clearly she hadn't noticed he'd woken up. He met her eyes, and she immediately began to blubber.

"Harry, you can't expect to deal with this by yourself. You can't shut me out!"

"I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Just let me help you Harry, please."

Harry began to sit up, awkwardly, as he still felt a little woozy.

"Thanks Hermione, I needed that."

Hermione was hastily trying to compose herself; she obviously didn't like Harry to see her cry. Harry got up with a little help from Hermione as he was still swaying a little, but once he was on his feet he felt better. He turned to Hermione, and saw her splotchy, teary face. He gently wiped a tear from her left eye with his thumb, and then walked out of the room to find Ron...


	3. Back At The Burrow

As the rest of summer dwindled away quickly, Harry realised he was foolish not to have replied to his best friends' letters. The past few days at the Burrow had been just as good as he remembered them to be, but Harry still wasn't accustomed to the fact that Ron and Hermione were going out, in fact he found it kind of awkward, often feeling like the third wheel. One such afternoon Mrs. Weasley had asked them to de-gnome the garden again, and they had agreed willingly, wanting to help out in any way.

Ron was getting angry because he'd had to throw the same gnome away four times already, as it came running back each time, a little dizzier than the last. Finally, Ron managed to hurl the creature over the fence and didn't see it return. Satisfied, he sat down under a tree and watched as Harry and Hermione finished off the last two.

Harry had been getting quite good at this, and had broken his record of fifty feet twice. Hermione however, wasn't having as much luck. This was when Ron came up behind her and held her hips, showing her how to swing and release. Harry felt awkward; out of place.

"That's the way 'Mione!" said Ron, as Hermione smiled proudly. The pair walked back towards the tree Ron had been sitting under, hands linked.

So she has a new nickname, Harry thought. Exhausted, he came and sat down next to them under the tree, and watched the sun setting.

"We're off to Diagon Alley tomorrow, Harry." Hermione stated quite matter-of-factly.

Harry, not realising he was being spoken to remained looking at the deep orange orb disappearing below the horizon.

"Harry?"

"Oh, sorry – what?"

He watched as Ron played with the curls in Hermione's hair. Harry had noticed for a while now that her hair was longer than usual, she must have grown it out over the summer. It fell gracefully in delicate waves, framing her face...

"I was just saying that we're buying our new stuff tomorrow, that's all."

"Yeah… right." Harry answered, distracted.

Harry now thought about the dream he'd had at Privet Drive.

"Harry, are you - are you okay?" Ron asked, nervous.

"I'm FINE!" Harry yelled, a little louder than intended. He hated people asking how he was. He then got up and started walking towards the house, when he heard someone calling him, running to catch up to him.

"Harry, stop!"

He turned.

"Hermione, what are you-"

"Just listen to me Harry. I know you feel awkward around us, but you shouldn't. We're you're best friends, and we still care about you."

Harry didn't say anything. Hermione studied his face, and evidently found something, for she then asked:

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry looked up and met her eyes, his hair falling into his eyes slightly, blocking them from view. He didn't brush it out of the way, and was surprised to feel Hermione's soft hands brush it gently out of his eyes. Coming out of his thoughts, Harry focused on the current issue, his feelings could wait, for now.

"What, Harry?" He had been quiet for a little while.

"Nothing. It's just-" he paused.

He didn't want to tell her, he knew she'd take it more seriously than was necessary. He didn't want to tell Ron either. He didn't want people to look at him with their faces full of pity and sympathy.

"It's nothing Hermione. Don't worry."

He turned to move away, but felt Hermione place a hand on his shoulder. He remembered her words: _don't shut me out_. That's exactly what he was doing. But did he want to tell her that he'd killed Dobby in his dream? Surely, S.P.E.W would have something to say about that. Worse, did he want to let her know that Voldemort had made him do it, that he could now be controlled by him? And then, on top of that, the Prophecy?

"I-I just wanted to tell you that I'm happy for the both of you, and-" he paused "and that you two look really great together."

"Harry, I _know_ that's not what you were thinking. C'mon, I'm one of your best friends, if you can't tell me, then who can you tell?

Harry knew she was right, and having known Hermione as long as he had, he knew she wouldn't stop pestering him until he told her.

"I had a dream that I-I…" he couldn't say it. "…killed someone." He finished, with difficulty. "Well at least I think I did. Voldemort could control me; he made me use the Avada Kedavra curse! I couldn't fight him, I was helpless."

Harry saw as Hermione's hands flew to her face in shock, and her eyes widened, this was just what he didn't want.

"Harry, you should talk to Dumbledore! Write to him, now!"

"Hermione, Dumbledore's not going to want to know about some dream I had…"

"He would, Harry." He knew she was right.

"Harry, _why_ didn't you tell us earlier?" Suddenly, she was getting angry.

"You don't think we could handle it, is that it?"

"No, I…"

"You what, Harry?"

"I didn't tell you because… because I knew you'd react like this!" He was becoming more and more angry by the second.

"Well, newsflash Harry! We're worried about you, we want to _help._"

"It's not-that's not it…" he mumbled.

Ron had been watching them nervously from a few feet away, worried that if he approached them it might provoke them into another argument.

"Uh, Harry, maybe we should head inside, it's getting kind of dark."

He was right, night had fallen some time ago, and the only lights that could be seen were from the lopsided windows of the Burrow.

"Mum'll be worried." Ron added.


	4. On The Train

Time flew by, as it always did when Harry was at the Burrow, and before he knew it, Harry had all his new stuff for his sixth year, and he was headed for Platform 9 ¾ .

Once they arrived, Harry took a moment, staring around at the platform, and the familiar feeling came to him - he was going home. By some miracle, the Weasleys, Harry and Hermione had all arrive in good time, and Mrs. Weasley marvelled at this.

"It's so nice not to have to rush, isn't it Arthur?"

"It is, Molly dear."

Eleven o'clock drew nearer and soon enough goodbyes were being exchanged.

"Do take care, Harry dear." Mrs Weasley smiled brightly at him, yet her eyes couldn't hide the concern that belied her steady voice.

"I'll try, Mrs. Weasley. And thanks – for everything."

She beamed at him.

A short while later, the trunks were loaded onto the train, and Harry, Ron and Hermione could be found in an empty compartment, awkward glances being exchanged.

"Harry, 'Mione and I have to go and take care of those little first year gits… Prefect duties…"Ron sighed.

"Ron!"

Harry watched as they turned and headed down the train corridor, both bickering, and gesturing emphatically. It was his first real chance to think about anything since arriving at the Burrow, and he took the opportunity. Opening his trunk, he grabbed his Invisibility cloak, draped it over him, and leant his head against the window, feeling the cool chill spread across the side of his face through the whispery fabric of the Invisibility cloak. He figured this way no-one could interrupt him, unless they sat on him, but he would see them first. So, Hermione and Ron… he knew he should be happy for them, and yet, a small part of him was growling in disapproval. It was natural to be jealous of your best friends getting together, right? He had been through so much with them, and the three of them were bound to get very close. Ron and Hermione had just taken that a little further… Inwardly growling at the thought, Harry shifted his position so that his back was now leaning against the cool window. As he shifted he noted the familiar change of scenery, how it grew wilder and darker. He now sat facing the doors into his compartment, arms resting loosely on his knees. His thoughts drifted to Sirius… No, that was painful. Instead he forced himself to think about the article he had read at Number Four. _Mysterious disappearances_ it had read… Voldemort was stealing muggles… but why?

Suddenly the door to the compartment was slid roughly open, and an angry Hermione shuffled stiffly through the doors, followed by a sullen Ron. Harry remained silent, debating whether or not to reveal himself, it seemed a bad time, they were clearly about to have a fallout.

They were sitting next to each other on the seat on the opposite side of the compartment to Harry. Hermione turned to Ron.

"Ron, if you don't take your Prefect responsibilities seriously, then why bother being a prefect?"

"'Mione, I do take them seriously. I just hate watching out for those little brats…" he said jokingly. Hermione obviously didn't get the joke, for she shot back at him:

"Ron! As incomprehensible as this may seem, you were once one of those 'little brats'…"

Ron suddenly stood up, glaring at Hermione.

"I know you didn't think I deserved this! You thought Harry should have been a Prefect instead of me!"

Hermione also stood up now, and though she was a head shorter than Ron, Harry was reminded eerily of Mrs. Weasley. She lost her menacing demeanour, however, when she began to mumble, clearly unsure as to what to say in her defence.

"I-Ron, I knew you would get it. You-you deserved it." She herself didn't look convinced.

"DON'T LIE!" Ron was seething now, his hands balling into fists by his sides.

Hermione reached out to touch Ron, but he avoided her hands.

"Ron, just -"

"Just what, Hermione? Just don't bother, right?"

"No, I meant -"

"Just shut up, Hermione."

This made everything so much worse.

"You want the truth Ron? I did think Harry deserved it! I was sure he would get it!"

Ron looked abashed, but then shot back at her:

"Well he didn't, did he?"

"That's because Dumbledore didn't want to burden him! He knew Harry would have made a great prefect."

Ron didn't have anything to say to this. He was breathing heavily, and he was shaking with anger. Surprising Harry and Hermione, Ron simply looked Hermione square in the eyes, and then walked silently out of the compartment.

Hermione was still seething, but as soon as Ron had left, she sank into the seat once again, and began to cry.

Harry didn't know what to say. He didn't think he should have heard that. He watched Hermione, and saw pearly tears slip down her cheeks into her lap. He had to do it.

With her head bent low, she didn't see Harry shed his cloak, but Hermione knew his presence immediately as he pulled her up into a hug.

She didn't say anything, but comprehension dawned on her, and she realised Harry had heard everything. She cried into his shoulder, while Harry held her. He was just a bit shorter than Ron, but tall enough that she could fit her head under his chin. After a while, Harry gently let her go, guiding her to a seat.

"You want to talk about it?" he stated simply.

Still sniffling, Hermione wiped her eyes, and looked at Harry.

"I think you heard pretty much how I feel."

"I-I'm sorry Hermione. I just wanted some time to think, I didn't mean anything like this to happen."

"I understand." She looked down. Harry tried to catch her eyes, but instead, reached out, and took her hand.

"Do you want me to go? Do you need some time alone?"

Hermione reacted immediately.

"No, can you… can you…" she trailed off.

"Can I…" Harry repeated as he watched her, concern etched on his face.

"W-Will you… hold me?"

Harry knew Hermione to be very secretive at times, and that she usually dealt with problems by herself, thus he was stunned to hear her plea for comfort. Stunned, but willing.

"I – maybe Ron should -"

Hermione was silent, she knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that she then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him to a hug.

Harry returned it, grateful to be some comfort to her.

"You guys are going to be fine." Harry stated, even though in his heart he hoped for the opposite. He continued, however, masking his real thoughts.

"You have little tiffs like this all the time; it's really the epitome of a love/hate relationship."

Hermione began to laugh softly at this, and Harry took this opportunity to wipe her tears away. They sat in silence for a while, which neither Harry nor Hermione really objected to, it was nice to just… be. They were suddenly interrupted and drawn from their own respective thoughts when the compartment door was opened softly. Ron stood in the door way, head bent low, he hadn't looked at them yet, and when he did, it really wasn't how he had expected to find Hermione. It was obvious that he had come to apologize, but his demeanour changed in seconds, from apologetic and sullen to angry and confused.

Harry and Hermione rapidly separated, both standing up, and Hermione moved towards Ron, but before she could speak, Ron had stopped her.

"Don't Hermione."

Hermione noted that he didn't use their nickname.

"I-I'm sorry Ron, Harry was just, he heard, and I was upset and…"

"Nothing happened, I promise, Ron." Harry added.

Ron merely looked at Harry, scepticism tainting his features. He then turned to Hermione.

"If you think he's so much better than me then why don't you-"

"Ron, don't be like this!"

Harry again felt out of place, except this time he was visible, they knew he was here.

Suddenly, Rons attitude changed.

"I-Hermione, I'm just really – I get really jealous…" he trailed off, turning red.

"That's an understatement." Hermione retorted.

"Please 'Mione, I need you…"

This softened Hermione, she moved over to him, and embraced him.

"Same here. C'mon, walk with me."

By now, Harry felt really out of place, so he made an on-the-spot decision.

"No, you guys have a lot of stuff to…er… work out. I'll go change, we're nearly there. I'll see you when we get there."

With that he left Ron and Hermione in the compartment to make up, as he knew they would.

Finding another empty compartment, Harry changed into his uniform and his robes. Just as he was slipping his robes over his shoulders, he realised he hadn't put on his tie. Sighing, he filtered through the contents of his trunk until he found his tie, neatly ironed (by Mrs. Weasley, no doubt). Shutting the lid of his trunk, he lifted up his collar and swung the tie around his neck, adjusting the lengths of the tie on his chest, and as he did so, he heard someone come in. Without turning, he continued to tie his tie.

He felt someone slip their arms around his waist, and he turned his head slightly, and inhaled sharply as he felt his cheek touch warm, soft skin. He found himself looking into Hermione's eyes. He stopped tying his tie, letting his hands drop to his sides.

"Hermione, I don't think you should -"

"Shh."

Hermione let go, and turned Harry around to face her.

"I'm really sorry about before, but you were great, I really needed that."

"Uh – sure. So, are you and Ron…"

"We're fine; you know what he's like, always jealous…"

Harry couldn't hide his disappointment, so instead he began to tie his tie again, but was doing an appalling job.

Hermione noticed this.

"Here, let me."

Hermione, with surprising skill, began to do up Harry's tie. Harry meanwhile, was trying not to look like he was enjoying this too much.

She was so close, he could see the few tiny freckles that were scattered over her cheeks and neck. He could smell her…

"There." She said suddenly, drawing Harry out of his reverie.

"Uh – thanks, Hermione. I'm – I'm going to go speak with the driver, see how much longer…"

Hermione looked suddenly sad, but hid it in seconds, smiling at Harry.

"OK, we'll save you a seat in the carriages up to school."

"Thanks."

Harry moved out of the compartment, walked down the corridor and stopped when he found the bathroom. He stepped inside, shut the door, and put the lid of the toilet down. He sat with his head in his hands, thinking about what just happened. He had to get out of there, it had been almost unbearable, she was close enough tosmell! Was this how it was going to be this year? Would he be the buffer in between them? Would he be able to control himself around Hermione? He had to. He made up his mind. No touching, it would be easier. With his new resolve in mind, Harry thought about the coming year. Ron and Hermione aside, what else was in store for him?

The Hogwarts Express came to a stop, and Harry stood up.

"Here I go…" Harry said softly to himself, suddenly regretting making a resolve he was sure to break…


	5. HoggyWarty Hogwarts

The trio sat in the Great Hall, poring over their new timetables, the sky, as reflected in the ceiling, was a dull grey, and was, in many ways, reflective of Harry's current mood. And Ron and Hermione weren't helping. The previous night, as they had come up to the castle, many people had noticed their "proximity" and hadn't failed to discuss it loudly as the couple passed. This just made Harry feel like an extra arm, an arm that needed to be severed, and quickly.

This morning was no different. Hermione and Ron were as couple-y as ever, and Harry was finding it hard to adjust. He sat fiddling with his spoon in his porridge. It had long since turned cold, but he hadn't really felt hungry anyway, he was just doing it so Hermione wouldn't fuss. Letting thew spoon fall (splosh) into his breakfast, Harry stood.

"I'll see you guys in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Hermione detached herself from Ron and turned to look at Harry.

"Harry, class doesn't start for another twenty minutes."

"I'll… I-um, I have to get something from my trunk, forgot something…" Harry mumbled ineffectively.

Hermione of course saw right through this, but Ron, snaking an arm around Hermione's waist again, interjected.

"Let him go 'Mione, give him a break."

With that Harry left them, Hermione giving him a worried look over Ron's shoulder.

He of course hadn't forgotten anything upstairs; he just had to get the heck out of there.

Harry arrived at the classroom little later than the rest of the class, and he slipped in as quietly as he could, sitting down next to Ron and Hermione, but the new DADA teacher didn't miss anything.

"Nice of you to join us, Potter."

The haggard face of Moody turned to face Harry, the electric blue eye swivelling back to the front.

"Er – Hi… sorry." Harry said uncomfortably.

Moody, turning his back to the class again, was now writing an incantation on the blackboard. In messy scrawl, Harry read: _dolor mentis._ Moody then turned back to his class again.

"This incantation, when used correctly, can be your greatest asset. The ability to cause not physical, but emotional pain to your enemy can be priceless. You have the ability to play on your opponent's worst memories or experiences, and this can prove invaluable. Never underestimate the power of the mind. "

Harry wasn't sure if he liked the sound of this.

They spent the rest of the lesson taking down notes on the proper use of the spell, as it could apparently backfire horribly if used incorrectly.

The last few minutes of the lesson were uneventful, and Harry was feeling anxious to get outside. The only thing that proved even more unnerving was when Malfoy decided to secretly cast the spell on Hermione.

Instantly, Hermione began to cry, not little baby tears, but deep wracking sobs that broke Harry's heart to hear. She had fallen to the floor, and was hugging her knees to her chest; Ron had frozen with anger, before suddenly lunging violently at Malfoy. Harry looked daggers at Malfoy, then bent down to Hermione, gently lifted her up, and took her to Moody at the front of the classroom. He quickly cast the counter-spell, and Hermione stopped crying. Harry had to almost carry Hermione out of the classroom, and as soon as they were outside, he sat her down on a bench, his hand gently rubbing the small of her back.

Hermione was avoiding Harry's eyes, clearly embarrassed. Wanting to let her reveal herself when she was comfortable, Harry merely continued to move his hand in small circles on her back. Quicker than he had expected, Hermione's tear-stained face turned to his, and she leant her cheek against his face. Her tears felt a little sticky against his cheek, and Harry wanted to wipe them away for her, make her feel better. Hermione suddenly spoke.

"God, Harry, it was… it was…" She began to cry again.

"Shhh…" Harry cooed consolingly.

Hermione nestled into Harry's chest, her fresh tears wetting Harry's shirt. He stroked her hair, and as he rested his chin on the top of her head, he noticed a certain lanky redhead approaching. As gently as he could, he detached himself from Hermione, helping her to stand, his hand gently clasping hers.

"I-er, she needed… I'll just..." He stopped. He noticed Ron had a cut lip, and a nasty looking bruise was forming on his right cheek - clearly Ron and Malfoy hadn't talked out the issue. Harry led Hermione to Ron, and watched as she was embraced by him, but her hand remained clasped in his. Letting go, he felt her hand tighten on his a bit, and he turned to see her looking at him over Ron's shoulder, her beautiful brown eyes wet with tears. She looked into his eyes, and then Harry let go.

Walking away, Harry tried not to turn and go back to Hermione. He was worried about her, but that was Ron's job now…


End file.
